


Guardian of the Wolves

by gryvon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, BAMF Stiles, Good Peter Hale, Hale Family Feels, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Steter Secret Santa 2020, The Hale Pack - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:47:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28207785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryvon/pseuds/gryvon
Summary: After Kate Argent kills his mom, Stiles is taken away from Beacon Hills and his dad for his own protection. Ten years later, he's back, ready to take his place with the Hale pack as the Guardian of Beacon Hills.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 36
Kudos: 248





	1. Where Things Go Wrong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shey/gifts).



"Mieszko, what are you doing?"

Stiles doesn't look up from the papers and books spread across the coffee table. "Dividing fractions."

He's sitting on the floor with a small sea of crumpled papers scattered around him. It had been a struggle at first, but he's finally starting to get it. Maybe. He carefully writes out the answers to the practice problems, making sure his numbers are neat and lines straight. "Can you look these over for me?"

Claudia Stilinski settles on the couch behind her son. Her movements have a grace to them that Stiles envies. He always feels like he's an abomination made of six elbows and twenty gangly knees, ready to knock over anything that comes within six feet of him. 

She leans forward and runs a hand down his back. Stiles's nerves settle. There's nothing magic in the touch, just the familiar comfort of mom. She turns the book Stiles is working from to look at the cover. "This isn't your textbook."

Stiles pushes the book flat so he can keep working. "I got it from the library."

"Shouldn't you be working on your assigned math homework?"

Stiles looks over his shoulder, momentarily worried that he's in trouble. Stiles's attention isn't the best. He can't help that he likes to jump ahead when his current work gets boring. His mom is smiling, so she can't be too mad. He focuses, closing his eyes to help him concentrate. He can feel her amusement bubbling through the bond between them.

He opens his eyes and turns back toward the coffee table. "I did it already."

Claudia chuckles and puts her arms over his shoulders as she checks his work. Her fingers trace the carefully scrawled lines. "Doing good, kid. What's this for? I didn't think your class was covering fractions yet."

Stiles shakes his head. "We're not."

She pulls back and squeezes his shoulders. Another wave of warmth runs through him. He loves his mom so, so much. "So why the sudden interest?"

Stiles hesitates. It seems silly to say it out loud.

Claudia pokes him in the back. "Come on. Spill." Her fingers tap down his back. "Don't make me tickle it out of you."

Stiles squirms, embarrassed. He whispers the words like a secret, just for the two of them. "Lydia Martin can do math with fractions."

"Ahhh." He doesn't even need to reach for their bond to feel the thick thrum of his mom's amusement. "I see."

Claudia likes to tease him about having a crush on Lydia, but that isn't the reason. He doesn't want to kiss Lydia or anything. That'd be gross. It's just... she's the smartest person in their grade but nobody seems to notice except the teachers. He just wants Lydia to see that it's okay to be smart. That she could be smart with him.

"I'm proud of you," Claudia says, squeezing his shoulders again. "My smart little boy."

Stiles leans back against his mom's legs and tilts his head back to smile at her. He can feel the faint thrum of magic flowing between them. It's part of their bloodline, his mom had said. They're special. Protectors. He can't do anything with that magic yet, beyond interacting with his mom, but that will come later. When he's older, she said. Six more years, if he's lucky, but sometimes Guardians bloom later, especially when their ascendant is strong and their territory secure. 

They aren't in any hurry. Beacon Hills is a quiet town. Nothing ever happens here, and the Hale Pack are all well-liked. He knows Cora, of course. She's in some of his classes, and she's nice to most people. She doesn't like bullies, so she butts heads with Jackson Whittemore a lot. He sees Derek sometimes at the library and his dad complains that Laura always seems to know where the speed traps are.

He'd met the extended Hale family once, at some big town function they'd been invited to because his dad's a deputy, but he doesn't remember much about it. The memory is a blur of faces and names that he couldn't match if his life depended on it. There are a lot of Hales. He remembers Alpha Talia Hale, because she'd been pretty and strong and everything Stiles had always imagined an Alpha werewolf would be.

His mom is one of the strongest Guardians in the US, though few people know that since the identity of Guardians are kept secret, known only to the Council and the local Alpha. Their Nemeton is strong, providing both the pack and Claudia with protection. She's going to live a long, long time and there will be plenty of time for Stiles's training before he needs to take over. He's going to learn as much as he can and be the best Guardian ever, just like his mom.

A loud noise outside grabs both of their attention. It's similar to the sound his mom's Jeep makes when it doesn't want to start. Claudia starts to stand. 

Everything happens in a flash. 

He feels terror wash over him, not his own but from his mom. Then she's on top of him, squishing him into the carpet as their front windows explode.

Stiles screams as glass and wood chips pelt them, making a mess of his work and the book he borrowed from the library. Derek's going to be pissed. He thinks one of the pages is ripped.

His voice can barely be heard over the noise. The family pictures on the opposite wall—pictures of him and his mom and his dad smiling at the camera, always just out of pose because his dad never sets the timer right—shatter and fall to the carpet, little holes left in the wall in their place. Bullets. Those are bullets flying overhead. Someone is shooting at them.

"Get to the back door," Claudia shouts, pushing Stiles forward. "Stay down."

He crawls the length of the couch and around his father's favorite armchair. There's a loud boom behind him, followed by voices. The scent of lavender and cloves fills the air as his mom chants. Stiles glances back just in time to see spears of ice slam into the strange man in the doorway. Blood sprays all over the coatrack. Stiles's eyes widen. He thinks he's going to puke.

It's the first time he sees someone die.

Claudia turns back to him and yells "run" just as a second man steps through the hole where their front door used to be. He can feel his mother's magic rising again and he risks getting to his feet to sprint the short distance through the kitchen to the back door.

He shouldn't have bothered. There's a pained grunt from the front of the house and then the kitchen door bursts open. Stiles shrieks and falls backward as a third man with a gun forces his way into the house.

"Stiles!" His mom's voice sounds wrong. He's never heard her sound so scared.

The man smirks and raises his pistol, pointing it straight at Stiles. He should run. He can't move. Fear freezes him in place as he stares down the barrel of the gun. He closes his eyes as the man pulls the trigger. He's going to die. His mom and dad are going to be so sad. 

There's a loud bang and something heavy falls on top of Stiles, forcing him to the floor.

He opens his eyes and stares at the fabric of his mother's dress. The white and pink floral pattern is rapidly replaced with deep red. Claudia sits up and raises her hand. The man with the gun goes flying into the oak tree in their backyard with a sickening crack. Another bang from the front of the house makes Claudia fall again. There's a new red spot blossoming on her dress.

More men stand in the wreckage of the Stilinski living room, but there's a woman with them now. She's blonde and has a mean smile. Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles can see another figure coming through the backdoor while his mother struggles to get up. Stiles's attention is fixed on the blonde woman as she raises her gun. "Say goodbye, Guardian." Claudia's hands find his, squeezing once and then going limp as the blonde woman pulls the trigger.

Three things happen in rapid succession. A gaping red hole appears in Claudia's forehead. Pain lances through the bond between Stiles and his mother as he feels her die, feels it so intimately that he thinks he's died too. The world explodes.

Agony unlike anything Stiles has ever felt rips through him. His entire existence is pain. He's distantly aware that his eyes are open, but he sees nothing. He's screaming, but there is no sound.

He has no idea how long the pain lasts. It's there until suddenly it's not. He sways and strong hands hold him up. He stares at the open sky and smells smoke. A face appears in front of him—dark skin, bald head. He knows this man but no name springs to mind.

His mother is gone.

Voices echo around him. Loud and fuzzy. Too many to parse. The words make no sense. The bald man's lips move. Stiles has stopped screaming though his mouth remains open. No sound emerges. He's out of sounds.

His mother is gone.

A face he could never forget pushes through the crowd. The man falls to his knees beside Stiles. His dad. His dad is crying and pulls Stiles into his arms. The sky is darkening, clouds gathering to block out the bright blue. Why is he looking at the sky? He'd been inside. He looks down and realizes there is no inside anymore. Stiles sits in the middle of a crater of charred ash. Broken pieces of wood and debris fan out around him and into their neighbors' yards. Deputies are pulling charred bodies out of the wreckage.

His mother is gone, but there's something filling the space where her bond was. A presence that slowly builds inside of him, deeper and stronger than anything shared between him and his mother. He has a sense of space, of land and the things within it. Of living things. They're like stars in a cloudless sky, filling his horizon where there had been only emptiness before. He doesn't know who they are, not individually, but he knows what they were. Pack. His pack. His responsibility now that his mother is gone.

He closes his eyes and lets himself drift away with the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 should be up shortly. :)


	2. The Guardian of Beacon Hills

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles's appearance is inspired by [this wonderful art of Punk Stiles](https://www.deviantart.com/julessmrss/art/Punk-Stiles-552313216) by JuLessMrsS on deviantart.

A strange scent catches Peter's attention during his morning run. He veers off of his normal route and heads deeper into the woods, following the smell. It's both familiar and unfamiliar, carrying the deep, earthy scent of the Hale lands along with the sharpness of lightning mixed with cinnamon and cloves. The further he follows the scent, the more certain he is that the trail is leading him to the Nemeton.

He shifts from an easy jog to a full sprint. It's been almost ten years since Kate Argent and her cronies cut down and burnt the Nemeton, leaving it a blackened stump with only a fraction of the power it once held. She'd killed the Guardian of Beacon Hills—Claudia Stilinski was a hero to the pack, though Peter wishes he could have known her when she was alive—and would have killed the entire Pack if the Guardian hadn't taken Kate out with her.

Peter halts at the edge of the Nemeton's clearing. There's a young man laying across the Nemeton's stump. He's dwarfed by the massive tree, barely tall enough to cross the stump from head to toe.

This shouldn't be possible. The Nemeton is the most heavily warded part of Beacon Hills, accessible only to the local Druids and select members of the Hale Pack. Local Druid, technically. Alan Deaton has been the only Druid in the area since his sister left shortly after the Nemeton was destroyed. Even if this boy had gotten through the wards somehow, the Nemeton is notoriously picky about who it lets nearby. Peter would say it was impossible for the boy to be here, and yet, there he was.

"What are you doing?" Peter's voice breaks the quiet of the early morning. He stalks out of the trees, letting every inch of his innate predator shine through his approach.

"Resting." The boy doesn't move, doesn't even turn his head towards Peter's voice. He looks like he belongs at Jungle, not out in the middle of the woods. He has messy fuchsia hair that sticks out in all directions from the top of his head while the sides are shaved down to near nothing. He's wearing ripped jeans and a graphic tee. His pale skin is dotted by a scattering of moles, his beauty not at all detracted by his numerous piercings and tattoos. He's wearing sunglasses in the dark woods. There's a duffel bag next to the Nemeton with a black leather jacket on top of it.

Peter stops a foot away from the stump and crosses his arms. "You're trespassing. Leave or I will make you leave."

The boy snorts. It's an inelegant sound, yet somehow also endearing. "Technically, we're still in the Preserve, which is public land. I'm allowed to be here." 

If Peter weren't immediately wary of the boy, he might find him charming. "The Preserve is open to the public, but this area is restricted to Druids." A technicality, mostly, since Deaton only visits the Nemeton once a year.

A smile stretches across the boy's lips. It only serves to make him appear more fetching. "Then get a Druid to come kick me out."

"I am a Druid." Peter lies as easily as breathing. "This is me telling you to leave."

The boy finally turns his head toward Peter. He lowers his sunglasses and arches an eyebrow. His honey brown eyes rake over Peter, obviously liking what he sees judging by the way his lips twist into a smirk. There's something off about his eyes, though. It might be a trick of the light, casting them with a golden glow, but Peter has a feeling it's more than that.

The sunglasses are pushed back to cover the boy's eyes. He sits up and stretches his arms over his head, making his t-shirt ride up around his stomach. Peter can appreciate the hint of muscles underneath pale skin, even if the boy may or may not be an enemy.

"You're not a Druid," the boy says, still smiling. "You're a Hale." His head tilts with open curiosity. "Which one are you?"

There are several ways Peter could play this. He could refuse to respond and forcibly remove the boy from the Preserve, but that seems like a waste. He's intrigued by the strange boy, as unwise as that likely is. He could lie, wait and see what the boy is and what he wants before revealing his true nature. Or, he could throw caution to the wind and humor this strange, enchanting boy.

"Peter," he says. "Though I admit you have me at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don't know yours."

The boy hops to his feet. He throws his jacket over his arm and slings the duffel over his shoulder. "I'm Stiles."

"Just Stiles?"

Stiles shrugs. "For now. Tell your Alpha I'll be by later." He starts to walk away, hands tucked in his pockets.

"What business do you have with my Alpha, Stiles?"

Stiles turns with a grin, still walking, but somehow not wandering into any trees even though he's moving backward into the woods. "I want to introduce myself to the pack. Formally."

"Why?"

Stiles keeps moving deeper into the trees. "Because I'm your Guardian."

What?

Their Guardian was dead. Claudia Stilinski had died when Kate Argent had attacked their home. Her only son and heir had been taken away by the Druid Council, leaving Beacon Hills without a Guardian. The pack hadn't heard a thing since. They'd all assumed the boy had died from the magical backlash of inheriting his mother's power so early.

Peter dashes to the tree line, planning to go after Stiles and verify that he's telling the truth, but when he reaches the tree, Stiles is gone. Peter turns and forgoes the rest of his usual morning route. He needs to talk to Talia. They've learned by now not to trust strangers in their territory.

* * *

Stiles lets his eyes wander as he steps into the Beacon Hills Sheriff's Department. It's been years since he'd been here and he'd been so small then that he barely knows what, if anything, has changed. The entrance is painted a soothing orange-brown with dark wooden furniture and a wide front desk. He leans his elbows on the front desk and smiles widely at the officer standing on the other side. "Hello," he glances at her name tag, "Tara." He remembers her. She used to babysit him. "I'm here to see the Sheriff."

She gives him a dubious look and reaches for her computer. "Do you have an appointment?"

"Nope."

She leans back in her chair. "Sheriff Stilinski is a busy man. If you don't have an appointment, I can have you speak with one of the deputies. Maybe they can help you."

Stiles grins. "I doubt that. The sheriff's my dad."

Tara's eyes widen. She does a literal double-take, looking at him now like she's never seen him before. "Stiles?"

He rocks back on his heels with his hands buried in his jacket pockets. "That'd be me."

"Wow." She stares at him for a second, then shakes her head. "Wow, it's been so long. Just a second, let me..." She picks up the desk phone. "I'll let him know you're here."

Tara gets as far as "Your son is here" before a door slams open. They both turn to watch through the glass as Sheriff Stilinski bursts out of his office, surprising all the deputies in the bullpen. The Sheriff is both strange and familiar. He looks a lot like what Stiles remembers of his dad, but older, obviously. His hair is starting to go grey and a few pronounced lines crease his face. Stiles doesn't want to think about how much of that is his fault.

Then his father is there, right there for the first time in years. His dad's arms wrap around him, pulling him into a tight, tight hug. Stiles freezes. He hasn't been hugged since his mom died. It's so strange but so achingly familiar. He remembers this. He remembers his dad's hugs and he melts into the embrace. His head falls onto his dad's shoulder. He squeezes his eyes tight. He can't cry, not here, but it's hard holding it in. He misses his dad, missed him every single day they've been apart.

Noah Stilinski pulls away with obvious reluctance, but he doesn't move far. He holds Stiles at arm's length and stares. His eyes are as wet as Stiles's. "God. Son, let me have a look at you." His expression is a mix of awe and sadness. "You're not… Are you just passing through or-" Noah cuts himself off, unwilling to voice what they've both wanted for years.

Stiles smiles, glad that his sunglasses hid how close he is to tears. "I'm here to stay. I'm all graduated, or close enough."

"That's..." Noah swallows. "That's good. I'm glad." He steps back but leaves a hand on Stiles's shoulder. "Come on. We can talk more in my office."

Any pretense of work had stopped when Noah came rushing out. Noah doesn't seem to notice as he leads the way to his office. Stiles gives the gawking deputies a little wave. He counts at least three werewolves, one minor witch, a siren, and a hellhound. The latter gives him pause, and he lets his eyes linger over the hellhound deputy's rather nice figure.

Stiles drops into one of the chairs in front of Noah's desk while Noah shut the door, giving them an illusion of privacy. Now that they're alone, Noah lets the tears he'd been holding back fall, only to brush them away almost immediately.

"Sorry," Noah says. "It's just… I…"

"I know." Stiles smiles. His eyes are equally wet. "I feel the same."

It's so good to finally see his father, to be able to hug and touch after years limited to closely monitored phone calls.

"You can take off the sunglasses, you know. We're inside."

Stiles flinches and turns away. "They're not… It's… My eyes, they make people uncomfortable, sometimes."

"I'm your father." There's a whole world of acceptance and understanding tied up in those three little words. Stiles feels a knot in his chest that he hadn't even been aware of loosen. He pulls off his sunglasses. It takes him a minute to gather the courage to look Noah in the eyes. Emotion has his magic close to the surface, giving his eyes an unnatural golden glow.

Noah doesn't even flinch. "That's better. Do you have a place to stay yet? We've got a guest room. Well, I always thought of it as your room, but I-"

"I've got a place," Stiles says. It's only partially a lie. Thank God his dad isn't a werewolf.

"Oh." Noah's face falls and Stiles almost abandons his plans to live alone on the spot. He feels so guilty that he's not moving in with his father, but he's been on his own—or close to it with Marin keeping constant watch over him—that he's not sure how to live with another person. And if his plan works, he's not about to bring danger to his dad's house again. "Well, if you ever need… You should come by for dinner regardless. Scott and Melissa will want to see you."

Stiles fights to keep his smile in place even as his stomach twists. He shouldn't be nervous. He remembers Scott and Melissa. He'd been friends with Scott since kindergarten, but it seems different now that his dad is married to Melissa and Scott's his stepbrother. It's a whole new dynamic he has no idea how to deal with. But he can't not go, not when his dad asked. "Sure. Dinner would be great."

Noah smiles. "Great. That's good." He looks down at his empty hands and then over at his computer screen then back at Stiles. "How's Marin?"

Stiles shrugs. "Same old. She's settled with Deucalion's pack up in San Francisco for now."

Noah swallows. "And she's… she treated you well? She gave you everything you needed?"

"I'm still alive." That's obviously not the answer his dad wants. Stiles shrugs. "We moved around a lot. Lots of motels. Met a lot of interesting people, made some good international contacts. It's been… good." Good is perhaps a stretch of the word but his dad doesn't need to know about how often Stiles was left alone in a motel room while Marin dealt with Council business.

Noah nods. "I thought Marin wanted to keep you longer. Something about a trip to China?"

Stiles makes a face. "Ugh. No. China's nice, but I'm done with studying. And travelling. I just want to stay put for a while. I passed all the qualifying exams to prove to the Council that I'm strong enough to be on my own and now that I'm twenty, legally, the Council can't claim me as a protected minor."

Noah's eyes widen. He blinks and turns to stare at the calendar. "Oh. That's right. I… Happy birthday, son. I'll… Melissa can get a cake tonight and we can…"

Stiles waves a hand. "Don't worry about it." He isn't surprised Noah forgot the date. It doesn't hold much meaning to them anymore, beyond marking the termination of Stiles's training. Stiles hasn't celebrated his birthday since his mom died.

Noah sits up and squares his shoulders. That's his stern face, the one Stiles remembers from all the times he got in trouble as a child. "No. I insist. You deserve a proper birthday. I have…" Noah flushes slightly and clears his throat. "I have presents for you."

Stiles raises an eyebrow. "Presents?"

"One for every year you were gone."

Stiles's chest aches. He looks away before he starts crying and smiles. "Okay. Okay, we can celebrate my birthday. Who am I to turn away presents?"

"Good. That's settled then. Seven okay? Melissa doesn't get out until after six. I'll call Scott, make sure he'll be there."

Stiles nods. "Okay. That'd be nice."

Noah looks down at his desk. "I have a few things I need to finish before I can call it a day, but you're welcome to wait. I wouldn't mind the company."

It's tempting. Now that he's with his dad, he doesn't want to let Noah out of his sight, but if he's going to spend the evening with his dad and the McCall's, then he needs to get his meeting with the Hales out of the way first. "I'd like to, but I still have to meet with Alpha Hale today."

"Oh. Okay." Noah starts to rise from his chair. "Do you need a ride? I can drive you."

"No, it's okay." Stiles smiles. "I picked up a used Jeep in San Francisco. It's seen better days, but it made it all the way here well enough."

They both stand. Stiles hesitates a second before stepping around the desk and latching onto his dad with another lingering hug. Noah hugs him back like he never intends to let go.

"I really missed you, dad," Stiles says into his dad's shoulder.

"Me too, kiddo. Me too."

* * *

Stiles parks in front of the Hale house and stares at the massive building with a bit of awe. He's been living out of motels and guest rooms so long that standing in front of a house like this—a house full of people, of his pack—it's intimidating. Even if he didn't have the address, he would have been able to find the house by following the shining constellations of his pack bonds. Not all of the pack are here—he'll have to track down the others soon so he can meet them—but the majority are here, in this one spot, so very close that it makes excitement surge like lightning through his veins.

This is what Christmas used to feel like, back when his mom was alive.

He doesn't bother hiding his approach. The Jeep is old enough that they probably heard it rattling toward the house as soon as he turned off the main road. There are six other vehicles parked in front of the house. Stiles's Jeep is by far the worst of the lot. He parks next to the Shelby Cobra just to be obnoxious.

He's honestly surprised he makes it all the way to the front door without someone appearing. They're a werewolf pack. He knows they can hear him. He knocks anyway and waits politely on the porch. Marin would be so proud of his manners. She'd also wonder if he'd been replaced by a pod person.

Deaton opens the front door. He steps out and shuts the door behind him, blocking Stiles from entering the house. "You shouldn't be here," Deaton says in a stern voice that would probably mean something if Stiles hadn't spent the last ten years with Deaton's sister. A stern Deaton is equivalent to Marin in a good mood.

"That's not really your call," Stiles says with a shrug.

"Guardians are kept secret for a reason. The more people who know who you are, the more danger you're in."

Stiles sucks in a sharp breath and holds it. He counts to ten, shoving the sudden spike of anger down, down, down. It's not Deaton's fault what happened. It is his fault that Stiles had to spend the last ten years away from his dad and everyone he loved.

"Yeah," Stiles drawls, "fat lot of good that did for my mom. I graduated. You don't actually get to tell me what to do."

"You don't understand the kind of danger you're bringing on yourself."

The longer he talks to Deaton, the harder it is to control the anger boiling inside of him. "Pretty sure I do. If the Argents want to come after me again, they'll know where to find me. Assuming they can get across the border. And if they're stupid enough to try, they won't live long enough to regret it. This is my life, my choice."

Deaton sighs, gives one last shake of his head, and walks off the porch.

Stiles turns back to the front door but doesn't bother knocking again. "Now that you've heard your Emissary and Guardian have a pissing contest, do you think I could come in? I'd really like to meet the pack."

Talia Hale opens the door. She's instantly recognizable, even though Stiles has only met her once. Her entire countenance screams Alpha. In the constellation that is the pack, her star shines brightest, like the North Star guiding him home.

"You must be Alpha Hale," he says and holds out his hand. "I'm Stiles, son of Sheriff Noah Stilinski and former Guardian Claudia Stilinski."

"I remember you," Talia says. She takes his hand and uses it to pull him into a hug. He tenses again, worse than with his dad because there's no sense memory for him to relate to. Still, it's a nice hug. Comforting. This must be what it feels like to be part of the pack.

"I'm sorry about your mother. She was a friend." Talia pulls back and steps aside. "Would you like to come in?"

"Thank you." Stiles bows his head slightly in deference to the Alpha.

He steps inside the foyer and looks around with wide eyes. For a giant mansion, the house has a homier feel than he'd expected. The interior reminds him more of the country homes he's seen in TV shows. There are picture frames scattered along the walls, full of faces he doesn't recognize. A wide staircase leads up to a small balcony on the second-floor landing. A man and a woman watch from the railing. Peter Hale leans against the doorway to his right. Another woman stands at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed.

Stiles grins and waves. "Hi. I've been looking forward to meeting you all, finally putting names and faces to the bonds."

There's blatant appreciation in Peter's eyes. Not just the curiosity and attraction from their encounter earlier, but Stiles can tell he's impressed Peter. This close, the pack bonds are stronger. When he focuses on Peter's bond, he feels Peter's mix of lust-hunger-pride-glee.

"So, you're the one keeping the Argents out of Beacon Hills," Peter says.

"Yep," Stiles says, popping the 'p'. It wasn't even something he'd been aware of doing until Deaton had told him about it. Some Argents had wanted to retire from hunting and move to Beacon Hills. They couldn't cross the border into Hale territory and ended up settling a town over.

"Chris and his family are allies," Talia says. "Would you consider letting them through for pack business?"

"Nope," Stiles says in the same obnoxious tone as earlier. Peter's grin widens in glee. Talia takes his answer in stride.

Good. They know better than to press him where Argents are concerned.

"So, I've met Peter. I sort of remember Cora from school, but I'm afraid I don't remember anyone else."

The woman on the second-floor leaps over the balcony with a grace that Stiles envies. She lands easily, like she'd hopped off the bottom step instead of dropping an entire floor. "I'm Laura," she says and claps a hand on his shoulder. "Cora's older sister."

As soon as they touch, their bond sparks and flares. He mentally labels her star, slotting it into his growing sense of pack. "The one with all the speeding tickets. Nice to meet you."

Laura's grin widens. Amusement floods through the bond from Peter while Talia lets off a whisp of exasperation. "Sheriff's son, huh?" Laura nods. "That makes sense." She uses her grip on his shoulder to yank him forward into a hug. Her cheek brushes against his in a blatant attempt to scent mark him. "Welcome to the pack."

The other man and woman join them at a more sedate pace. "My husband, Paul," Talia introduces them, "and my sister, Amelia." They both offered polite greetings and lean it to brush their cheeks against his.

Each touch makes Stiles's bonds to the Hale pack stronger. It settles some of the constant anxiety inside of him. He had hoped for at least a friendly reception, but this is more than he could have dreamed. They've just met him and they're already treating him like pack.

Why had his mom kept them separate when it could have been like this the whole time?

"Not that I'm opposed, mind you," Peter drawls from the doorway. "But why reveal your identity now? Why ten years of secrecy only to show up on our doorstep?"

"The secrecy was never my idea," Stiles says. Talia places a hand on his back and wordlessly guides him past Peter into the living room where they can all sit down. "Deaton didn't even let me say goodbye to my dad before he had Marin whisk me out of the state. I woke up in a motel in Nevada and thought she'd kidnapped me. The Council decided it would be best if I was moved around until I came of age and passed their exams to prove I was strong enough to defend myself if someone came after me again."

Amelia nods. "Someone like the Argents. Chris and his daughter are alright, but his father, Gerard, is as psycho as Kate was. I'm sure he'd love to get revenge for Kate's death."

Stiles feels his lips stretch into a wide, feral grin. "He's welcome to try."

The attraction he can feel from Peter kicks up a notch. Approval floods the thin bond between them. "So you're making yourself an obvious target to lure him to you."

Stiles shrugs. "Partially. Another part of it is because of what happened with my mom. Her identity was secret. She kept us away from the pack, did everything right, and Kate still found her. Secrecy didn't do us any good." 

He looks away from the gathered Hales, staring out the large picture windows that look onto the front lawn. He can see his Jeep sitting proudly between all the expensive vehicles. One of the more modest cars is gone, presumably Deaton's. "Before my mom died, we had a deep bond. It's something that's common between Guardian and heir. But beyond that, I had my dad and I had friends at school. Then, when she died, all of that went away and in its place were the new bonds to the Hale Pack."

He huffs a short laugh and looks down at his hands. "It's stupid. I know that, but when I had no one else, I had the pack bonds. I kind of fixated on that, I guess? As a way of not being completely alone. So as soon as I could get myself away from the Council's control, I knew I wanted to meet you, and thank you, I guess, for keeping me sane. I understand if-"

The rest of his words are cut off as Laura throws herself sideways to bridge the gap between them on the couch. She tackles him into the cushions and wraps around him like an octopus. It's a strange feeling, her arms holding him close, her weight pressing him into the couch. It feels warm and safe. He never wants it to end.

"I am never letting you go," Laura proclaims in an eerie echo of his thoughts. She tightens her arms around his chest.

"I'm going to need to pee eventually," Stiles points out, earning a chuckle from Talia and Paul.

"Stiles." Talia's voice pulls the attention of the room. Laura releases him enough that he can face the Alpha. "It would be an honor to have you as part of our pack. Your mother was a wonderful person, and the best Guardian a pack could hope for. I am confident that you'll live up to her legacy."

He pulls an arm out of Laura's grip so that he can wipe away the moisture clinging to his lashes. "Thanks. I mean, um, thank you. That means a lot."

"We owe you and your mother our lives. If there's anything we can do to keep you safe, we'll do it."

Stiles huffs. "That's supposed to be my job."

"I think we can agree to look out for each other."

Stiles has to blink a few times to hold back the tears that threaten. It's been a long, long time since someone wanted to look out for him, not because it was their job or because the Council ordered it, but because of who he was. He loves this pack that he barely knows, loves them with every piece of his heart.

He only hopes he can be someone they'll love in return.

* * *

"Jesus Christ!"

Stiles turns away from the oven with a grin and watches his dad slowly lower his service pistol. "Hey."

"Stiles." The minute the gun is stowed, Noah pulls Stiles into another tight hug. Stiles is never going to get enough of his dad's hugs. "You could have given me a little warning. I thought you were coming over later."

Stiles leans into the hug for a moment before pulling away. He wants to linger but dinner will burn. "What would be the fun in that?"

"The fun's in not getting shot. I thought someone had broken in."

"Pssh." Stiles waves a hand. "Who in their right mind would break into the sheriff's house?"

Noah sighs and moves back toward the front door. He hears keys drop and the sound of mail being rifled through. "There are plenty of people in this world who aren't in their right mind."

Stiles pulls the meatloaf from the oven and sets it on top of the stove to cool. "Don't I know it. But look! Meatloaf!"

Noah drops into one of the kitchen chairs with a small smile. "I see that. You didn't have to cook but Melissa will be grateful. Usually either she cooks after she gets out of work, or more often than not, we order takeout. I swear Scott could burn water, so we've given up on trying to have him help in the kitchen."

Stiles does his best not to let a pang of envy show on his face. It's a stupid thing to be envious of, but he can't help but think of all the family dinners he's missed. All that takeout can't be good for his dad. He wishes he'd been here to cook healthier meals for his dad and the McCall's. "I'm sure." He keeps up the joking tone and sends Noah a pointed look. "Not that you're much better."

Noah feigns affront. "I am a master on the grill."

"And a disaster at the stove."

Noah snorts. "True. How'd your meeting with Talia go?"

Stiles tosses the oven mittens on the counter and turns away to start mashed potatoes. He doesn't want to risk becoming all emotional again and have his dad pick up on it. There's been enough waterworks today. "It was good. Only a couple people were home when I stopped by. We're waiting until the full moon next weekend for me to the meet the full pack including the pack-adjacents, but I got to see Peter, Paul, Amelia, and Laura so that was good. I'm really excited about meeting everyone."

Noah doesn't argue with Stiles about keeping his identity as a Guardian secret, and Stiles is eternally grateful. His dad gets it without Stiles having to run through his reasoning again.

"Did Marin teach you to cook?" Noah asks, changing the topic to something less likely to stir up bad memories.

Stiles snorts. "Marin? No. She's as bad as you. One of my ex-" Stiles cuts himself off with a quick glance at his father. "One of my friends is a chef."

Noah chuckles. "Friend huh? Just a friend?" Stiles should have known better than to try to evade his father's prying. There's a reason the man is the sheriff.

He blushes as he pulls the last of dinner—a bowl of Brussel sprouts with a mustard glaze—out of the oven. He leaves everything covered to keep it warm, but Noah had said Melissa usually got home around now so it shouldn't have to sit for long. "Yes. A friend. A very close friend. Temporarily."

Noah rolls his eyes. "Uh huh. You know Marin told me about every single boy you dated. And the occasional girl."

Stiles pauses in the middle of cleaning up the mess he'd created while making dinner. "No, I did not know that. Snitch."

"You can't blame a father for being concerned."

Stiles groans. "Please tell me you did not run background checks."

"Only on the ones where I could get their full names." Noah shoots Stiles a pointed look that makes Stiles blush. He may have had a few encounters where names were not exchanged, but only a few. It was definitely the minority. "You should be lucky some of them didn't end up with statutory rape charges, given your age differences. Like what was his name, Sam? The thirty-year-old when you were seventeen? Then there were the weres and what was Devin, exactly? Marin never did explain that too well."

The front door opens. "Hey, look, a distraction! Hello, new person!" The chuckling that comes from the front of the house is definitely female so that'd be Melissa then. Stiles can't help that he has a type and that type tended to be older and supernatural. It's a thing. Boys his age just aren't on the same level. And the supes understand him better, or at least they don't question his weird eyes or how he spaces out at odd times or when has to leave suddenly.

"Hello, Stiles," Melissa says as she steps into the room. "It's been too long."

He accepts the hug without too much tensing. He's been hugged so much today. It's definitely a record. He could get used to all the affection. He feels like a dry sponge, soaking it all up. "Hi."

"Scott should be in soon," Melissa says. "I heard his bike as I was walking in." She brushes a quick kiss on Noah's cheek and isn't that a strange sight? Stiles isn't sure if it bothers him or not, seeing his dad being affectionate with someone who isn't his mom. He's leaning toward not. His mom's been gone for a decade now. His dad's allowed to move on.

"I'll be right back. I'm going to get changed. I'm assuming Stiles cooked?" At Noah's nod, Melissa beams at him. "It smells wonderful, Stiles. Thank you."

"No problem."

Noah eyes him once Melissa's out of the room. "You okay, kid?"

He nods quickly. "Yep. Absolutely."

"If any of this makes you uncomfortable, I can talk to Melissa and-"

"No," Stiles quickly interrupts. "No, dad, it's..." He struggles to find the right words to describe the complex mess of emotions inside of him. He's sad. He misses his mom and misses the life they all shared together, but he's also really, really happy to have his dad back, in whatever way he can. "I'm just happy you're happy. And Melissa makes you happy. How could I be upset over that?"

The smile Noah sends him makes Stiles's knees weak. It's so relieved, like a giant weight has been lifted. He hadn't realized until now how important it was for Noah that Stiles accept Melissa—and presumably Scott as well—into their family. 

They smile dorkily at each other until the front door opens again. Rushed footsteps approach the kitchen and Stiles doesn't even have to guess who it is, not with Scotty shouting out an excited "Stiles!"

Scott crashes into him, knocking Stiles back into the counter and holding on for dear life. It reminds Stiles of Laura's hugs, like she'd been trying to squeeze the melancholy out of him. Scott holds on like he's making up for ten years of missed hugs.

"I'm so glad you're back, Stiles," Scott says into Stiles's hair. "I've missed you so much. Beacon Hills just wasn't the same without you and I could only hear about you through your dad, which sucked. I wanted to talk to you so bad. I begged Deaton to let me send you a letter or something, anything, but he wouldn't budge about Council rules and how it was dangerous and-"

"Breathe, Scotty," Stiles says with a chuckle.

Scott pulls back, holding Stiles at arm's length so he can stare at Stiles and pull in a deep breath. He's not gasping for breath like when they were kids. Stiles hopes that means Scott's asthma has lessened in severity over the years.

"I just..." Scott shakes his head. "I can't believe you're back, finally." Worry clouds Scott's expression for a moment. "You're here to stay, right?"

Stiles can't believe how lucky he is. He's got his best friend back and his dad and a pack. It's too much, but it a good way. An overwhelming amount of love, like the last ten years it's been building inside of him and now that he's back, it's ready to come bursting out of him. "Yeah, Scott. I'm here to stay. I promise."

For a second, Stiles almost doubts his plan. There's so much that could go wrong. Gerard could catch him unaware. Other Alphas or magic users or Hunters could come after him. Anyone, really, who thought they could control him or steal his power. Once word spreads, they'll come after him. He's made himself a very tempting target.

But he's stronger than most things that would dare come after him. He's stronger than his mother was, the strongest Guardian the council's ever seen. Marin and the dozens of supernaturals he's trained with may not have been affectionate or taught him how to cook or taken care of him like his dad would have, but they definitely taught him how to fight.

When Gerard comes, Stiles will be ready. He'll eviscerate anyone who thinks they can harm Stiles's family or his pack. That's what Guardians do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rating will be changing to Explicit when chapter 3 is posted. Sexy times are a' comin'.


End file.
